


this message in a bottle (the wisdom of the wine)

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, New Year's Eve, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Very Very Fluffy which is unusual but I tried my best, but I made up all of the customs once again, the festival of stars technically which is an actual thing in GFFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: Amidst one of the biggest festivals in the Galaxy, Din is on a mission - and when he finally runs into his contact, she's not quite what he expects but everything he's wished for.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	this message in a bottle (the wisdom of the wine)

**Author's Note:**

> This is cheesy and likely typo-ridden but I wrote it on my lunch break on a phone, so hopefully, it's at least readable. Feedback is, as always, much welcome!
> 
> Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_i5fBY3a5Q0). Inspiration for Cara's entire image in this one inspired by [this](https://i.imgur.com/wDmtKUs.png) and [this](https://i.imgur.com/WR6DKci.png) because that dress is *chef's kiss*.
> 
> Happy New Year, folks! Hopefully it's a brighter and better one than its predecessor, and hopefully it brings us as much health and happiness as it possibly can!

By the time Din arrives, the festival is already in full swing.

Karga’s instructions had been so stupidly convoluted that he almost regrets taking up the assignment. With the New Republic’s eyes turned towards Nevarro, debt collecting had become a far more complicated business and it had started needing several contacts in-between so that any trail anyone could possibly follow to anything remotely illegal could go cold. He understands that. He appreciates – more than, really – that his payment had also doubled because of it. He still wishes that the only way he’d ever known to make a living didn’t suddenly have to involve trying to blend into large crowds.

It’s a beautiful holiday, though; he can give it that much. The Festival of Stars had started off as a celebration in awe of the Galaxy’s first successful attempts at lightspeed travel and over the years, it had evolved into an occasion for everyone on the wealthier – or simply more self-indulgent on occasion – half of the population to splurge on an exotic vacation. Apparently, the New Republic had used the opportunity to give out awards for good behaviour and usually, Din would have scoffed at the idea, but tonight, he’s a man on a mission.

“You’ll know your contact on sight,” Karga had assured him with the kind of smile that had never actually felt the slightest bit reassuring. “If she tries to be difficult about it, do remind her that collecting money that others owe you is a perfectly respectable wish and we’re only using her as a crutch.”

“Noted,” Din had said, mystified but intrigued, and had set out to follow through.

Now, a short time and many wrong turns later, he’s starting to think that this hadn’t been such a good idea. Honestly, he feels a little cheated. Ever since Cara had received her new position from the New Republic and he’d continued to get along with her just fine – better than fine, not that Karga needs to know that – he had started giving him mainly tasks that dance dangerously close to the edge of the law. Cara, come to think of it, could have done this herself if it’s all as respectable as it supposedly is, though, if he’s to be fair, he hadn’t seen her during his last visit. She had come up, but Karga had been strangely tight-lipped about her whereabouts and she hadn’t called, even though he’d told her he’d be coming—

Oh. _Oh no_.

He’d arrived to the right conclusion just as the noise pouring out of the tent he’d been approaching had started melting into words.

“—for her amazing contributions over the last month and the brave capture of—”

“All right, all right, that’s enough. Just give me that.”

The painfully familiar drawl that he’d come to love so much makes Din freeze in place, but it’s too late.

 _You’ll know your contact on sight_ , Karga had said and, damn him, he hadn’t _lied_.

A brief burst of laughter follows her false modesty and he steps through the flaps, eyes glued to the centre of the room and the two people on the small stage, illuminated by the countless lanterns so typical for this festival thrown all around the room. Cara’s head is bent slightly forward as the medal is slipped around her neck, so she doesn’t see him – he doubts she even can, with how dark it is at the entrance – and she climbs right off the stage a moment later to make space for the next good soldier, sauntering over to the bar where she downs the shot the bouncer hands her in one go under her colleagues’s applause. Din’s mouth goes dry.

She’s always beautiful – it had been, shallow as it is, one of the first things he’d noticed about her – but she’d made a particular effort tonight. Everything about her glimmers from head to toe, hair piling on one shoulder in large curls, her usual gear missing in favour of something that seems to be more a tube than an actual dress; black and shining and criminally tight, almost resembling his cape in the back. The medal only serves to draw even the eyes even closer to it – not that she doesn’t have his undivided attention already – and Din is bracing himself for the inevitable approach he’ll have to make by the time she realises that she has _everyone_ ’s attention, looks vaguely unsettled and quietly pleased by that fact, and wanders off away from the crowd and in his general direction.

He can pinpoint the exact moment she notices him – the way her eyes widen, her lips curving into a smile before she’d allowed it to will never get old, no matter how many times it happens – and they both step closer, crossing the limited distance that separates them until she lands directly into his arms. He might or might not have orchestrated it that way, but it feels _good_ ; knowing that she’ll respond readily whenever he’s brave enough to display any kind of closeness in front of others, even with the helmet firmly in place.

“You spying on me now?” Suddenly, all the glitter scattered over the entire festival and this room and every part of her seems dull when compared to the gleam in her eyes, as inscrutable and inviting as black holes often are. He’s happy to focus on them – given the way she’s dressed, there’s little else that feels even remotely safe. The blazing black contraption wrapped around her is too much to handle in the crowd they’re in and he’s rarely been more grateful to have his entire face covered by beskar.

“I’m here on business.” He looks over her shoulder and back towards her small team, where eyes seem to wander over to them more and more often as Cara stays glued to his side. He’d only had her here for a minute and they’re already curious and it’s as irritating as everything about her commitment to the New Republic tends to be to him. It’s unfair and he has no right, but there’s no helping the rush of possessive frustration that comes over him in moments such as these. “Your friends are going to want you back soon.”

“They can wait,” Cara says breezily, slipping out of the room and into the golden darkness that awaits them outside, courtesy of the _stars_ hung up on every corner. “The festival’s almost reached its highest point; we can all go home after that.”

 _Home_. What is home to her, now? He doesn’t dare to ask. “Rude of you to ignore them for the most important part.”

“Do you want to do business or not?” Had he been the one asking the question, the answer would have been an innuendo, but Din manages to refrain. As he looks at her, directing them both down an alleyway and towards a building that’s most certainly a hotel, there are plenty of other things he has to refrain from, too – her needle-thin heels click a rhythm for him to follow, the dress billowing out in the cool evening air as she leads him forward by the hand. They duck inside and she fishes out a card to flash at the receptionist before taking a sharp turn and pulling him into a room. It’s small and consists mainly of a bed, but it must be enough for a soldier by the New Republic’s standards, and Din pulls his helmet off just to see her intrigued smile brighten up even further in reaction. _This never gets old, too_. “All right, I’m all ears. What kind of job do you—”

The rest of the questions is swiftly drowned out in a kiss, biting and demanding and probably too much – they both exist in extremes, so it’s always difficult to tell – and Din hadn’t _meant_ to, really, except it’s been so long and there’s always _some kind of job_ , either for him or for her, and there’s never, never enough _time_.

“ _Mando_.” She knows his real name – has for a while, but she uses it freely now, and this is a habit he’d noticed a while ago; one that never fails to fill him with the most irrational kind of warmth – it’s always the name she goes for when he somehow manages to fluster her. “Am _I_ the business you’re here on?”

“I— yes?” The way her eyes narrow back at him makes him backtrack before she’d had the chance to come to the wrong conclusion. Over the months, he’d learnt to read her easily than he ever had anyone else, and just now, keeping eye contact feels crucial – he’s filled with the strange conviction that looking anywhere south from her face will mean losing a challenge he’s barely aware she’d presented in front of him. “You’re my contact, but Karga failed to mention that it’s _you_ , and when I saw you there—”

He stumbles. He could have asked her there and been done with it; could have done exactly what had been asked for him and waited for a more fortunate moment to be alone with her again. But that’s the trouble, each and every time – ever since they’d left Moff Gideon’s cruiser, if he’s not alone with her, he’s _alone_. She takes her warmth away with her time and time again and it’s difficult; trying to voice something quite so precious.

“I’m on the clock, Djarin.” If she notices, she’s kind enough not to point it out, and there it is again – that same smile; the one he’d always thought she doesn’t fully realise she’s giving him. _She knows_ , he thinks suddenly, she has to – has to be able to see the power she holds, has to understand it, but she’s leaving it in his arms anyway. This must be what love is like, on her end – making sure not to damage everything he’d so recklessly placed in her hands by letting him take control of it all. “I’m your contact; I got that. What’s your assignment?”

He doesn’t bother with an answer – just kisses her again instead, arms wrapping around her in a way he hopes tells her that he’s not planning on letting go anytime soon. His hands roam with the hunger he’d been trying to suppress so far and Cara laughs, light and more carefree than anything he’s heard from her so far.

“No job tonight, got it.” She’s still shining, bright enough to blind him, and he’s rarely wanted anything more. “And no going back to my job, either. I’ll get you back for that one, just so you know.”

Outside Cara’s window, the night bursts into colour, thousands of lanterns rising towards the sky in more prayers than anyone can count, but Din barely notices – everything he’d asked for today is already here, and she’d just promised him the things he hadn’t dared to think aloud this far.

“I’ll hold you to that.” The lights flicker over her face, bright with what they've yet to speak. "Just so you know."


End file.
